


Valentine's Day

by Annabel_Lioncourt



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic nonsense, F/M, First Time, First time for everything, I'm Sorry, I'm procrastinating, Its more on the awkward side of things than the erotic, Robot/Human Relationships, and probably could have flown by with an M instead of an E but I'm trying to be safe about this, artificial person if you will, cute nonsense, here have some awkward nerds that have almost no idea what they're doing or how they got here, or android/human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-05 08:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15166904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabel_Lioncourt/pseuds/Annabel_Lioncourt
Summary: Amanda makes an attempt at taking her new relationship a little farther and Christopher would like to as well, but he is as characteristically paranoid about it as he is with everything else in his artificial life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize.

Ninety-six hours, almost to the minute they had been back on Luna and nothing was sitting right in his processors. He had been careful walking next to her, or slightly behind her, always with enough space between them to be unnoticeable should someone recognize him for his synthetic model. Yet for her safety he remained close enough to reach her should anything happen; Amanda seemed comforted by the security. Samuels was careful never to be so close as to accidentally touch her.

What he had been doing for the past days here was…unseemly. Something was intensely wrong with his actions, and every line of his coding was on fire now _go back to the Weyland-Yutani HQ and stay there; get a memory clear, get back to work._

Amanda had waited for him on the ramp, turning around to be sure that he was there, and he took it as permission to follow her. They could only hide their return from the Company for so long, and he was sure that a memory clear or full decommission awaited him there, but at the moment he had thought that seeing Ripley’s still-shaky smile for a couple of days wouldn’t hurt him any farther, and couldn’t hurt her more than he already has.

It was a weekend, apartment offices weren’t open, and even if they were she was in no condition to go flat-hunting just yet. The dock hotel was close enough to the medical center on Tranquility base that he would be able to walk her there and back for the physical and mental care she needed. Perhaps after that care she would be pulled together enough to no longer request him to stay. Or so he hoped, using his company card to pay for the room. Weyland-Yutani would likely notice the charge if they were on the hunt for him, and he realized that he had good-as-numbered his days if that was the case.

But even after he stood by the door dutifully as Amanda searched the hotel room floor to ceiling, pushed the bed into the back corner of the room, stripped off the still-clean clothes she put on before leaving the _Torrens,_ she didn’t tell him to leave. She dumped her carryall on the chair and rooted through her clothes.

“Can I wear this?” she asked, breaking the silence and holding up one of his undershirts that had found its way into her things. Samuels didn’t ask why she couldn’t wear one of her own.

“You’re welcome to everything I have.”

Evidentially, she took it to heart because she went into his small bag and took out his datapad, resting back against the headboard of the bed and searching for apartments.

Then the unseemly part on his end came in: when she gently pat the side of the bed, gesturing for him to sit next to her.

Amanda resettled to lying back against his chest, and his arms came up around her waist so quickly that he had to reexamine the coding of the motion to see if it was an automatic reaction or not. It wasn’t.

 _She has to see this_ . _She has to know. She has to leave_.

He let his ventilation system contract: he exhaled softly into her hair. Amanda reached over and set the datapad on the nightstand. He opened his arms enough for her to move back. She laid down on top of him, her legs on either side of his, she smiled that fragile smile of someone in pain, and he hugged her down to him.

“Little lower, that’s a bruise,” she said lowly, and he moved his hands down her midriff to her hips.

“Sorry,”

“It’s okay, I’m mostly bruises right now.”

“I can go and get ice,”

“No, no…stay with me.” The words were quiet but resolute, and he offered her nothing else.

In the morning she resumed her search. She wasn’t picky, and he wouldn’t object to any of her choices, and they found a decent flat at the edge of the business center of Tranquility. He went with her to sign for it, rental information requiring knowledge that he was a synthetic, not an inhabitant. Even at the distance he could sense Ripley’s temperature rise when she said through tight teeth:

“No, we’re not partners, he’s my synthetic medical assistant.”

Once inside the flat, he called for her storage locker to send over the few things she didn’t sell or throw out before leaving on the mission . One well-worn reading chair, a lamp, one end-table, a coffee machine; there were some old books and a TV set that looked like it was on its fourth life courtesy of the engineer. In the evening she gave him a curious look as he stayed in the main room as she dragged her feet to bed.

“You aren’t coming?”

“I…was of the understanding that we—“

“What? We were only sharing a bed for the past week and now I’m putting you on the couch?”

“Yes? I don’t require a bed, or sleep at all and—“

“No. Just tell me if you _want_ to stay with me.”

“Yes.”

The relief in her eyes struck into his processor like an electric shock. At some point they’d have to answer to the company, at some point Amanda would realize that this wasn’t natural but again, the damage was done, and perhaps he was a selfish machine but if nothingness awaited him when retaken by his legal owners, then he wanted this as long as he could have it. Once Amanda was asleep, he carefully got out of bed, paranoia urging him to go back out to the center room to watch the door.

* * *

 

The next day brought their first venture out into the wider city of the colony, to crowds of living people. Amanda snuck a careful tug on his hand or arm or hem of his shirt sometimes, possibly to help ground herself, possibly out of affection, and she was ran out of stamina quickly. Things needed to be taken care of however, and she wanted it over with.  Some new clothes—just essentials, a fuller trip was in order for her new housemate in the near future—and some cheap furniture, basic groceries, bookcase to replace the one she sold, a large bottle of cheap whiskey, and another pillow for their ( _their their their)_ bed.

Night two into her new post-hell-and-certain-death life, and she hadn’t vomited for forty-eight hours.

She set another old textbook on the new bookshelf, yawned, and fell back onto the reading chair. Her partner matched her movements of exhaustion with the finesse of someone who didn’t know what tired felt like: he shrugged his new jacket off (a duller green than the last one, and not one Amanda much liked but it lacked the logo of his previous ‘employment’ which was the most important). She would have preferred him to get the leather one but it was too much for him in appearance and price tag. Now with his back to her in her chair he couldn’t see the look of displeasure she gave at the sound of his dog tags jingling under his shirt when he moved. Property tags, as if he was still owned by the company. He _was_ in all legal senses despite Amanda claiming him as salvage on landing. She would find a way around it, there was no other option.

“I give up. I’m putting the new sheets on the bed, I’m taking a bath, and I’m doing nothing else until tomorrow.”

“Understood. It’s been a long day and you’ve held up very well,”

“Thanks, doctor,”

“I can have coffee ready for you when you’re out, or tea, or—“

“God, Samuels,” she rubbed her eyes, for a second. “ _Christopher_ , I’m sorry–I’ll get used to that—I told you. You’re not my servant. I don’t want you to wait on me or cook for me or clean up after me. I don’t need it.”

“I was only offering,” he gave her a smile with all the charm of a 20th century silver screen start, and Ripley felt the usual heat that threatened to burn out of her chest whenever he showed such a human trait—and then felt it swiftly drop down her spine and between her legs.

She watched when he turned away, taking a few empty boxes to the pile of them by the door; her eyes went down the length of him, the graceful movement, too perfect to be human. He was very tall, something she never considered seeing as her own height gave her a skewed idea of what ‘tall’ or ‘short’ really meant, and he was handsome—plain, nothing that stood out with any kind of uniqueness but some expressions suited him very well. That smile, the smaller crooked one he gave her when he was amused by something, the slight confusion when she tried to stumble over any kind of statement of affection for him.

These weren’t programmed movements, they were _his own_ and he looked all the better for it. True, he had to be conscious of the shift, nothing she read said that he was capable of instantaneous reactions: he could, however, according to his manuals, program small changes himself. Amanda decided the change from his factory-setting-smile to these more defined ones, and his  trusting her enough to display confusion and worry—or perhaps displaying them automatically as part of his development of sentience—was a good thing.

Christopher didn’t know she’d been reading his manuals, didn’t know just how well she knew him inside and out (physically speaking at least) or that she knew just _how different_ he was acting to his programmed behavior. What was supposed to be a hard wired persuasive and direct business model was soft, kind, and caring; full of an empathy that Ripley rarely saw in her fellow humans. And the _nervous system_ she thought, unable to avoid it as she noted that she was be eye-level to the buckle of his belt, and how little effort it would take to just—

The design of his nervous system allowed for a focus of function. His entire surface, with the exception of his crystal-lens eyes, was wired into the system. If the bits of him she was sure she could feel down there when she curled up with him at night was also part of said system, he could experience feeling at whatever intensity he wished.

If he wanted to, that is. Clearly, he had something against getting overly intimate with her, and she could see in his eyes now and then this look of being lost. It was as if he had no idea what he was doing or how he got here. None of it eased Ripley’s anxiety that kept hissing in the back of her head at her: _he’ll leave when adjusts to freedom, he’ll want better than this brash on the outside, head-case on the inside greaser_. He had (possibly) unlimited time, and she knew that there were better places or better matches at the least for him to spend it with.

Still, he had done everything in his power, over and over, with no reward _just to help her_ . He always went out of his way to be kind when everyone else avoided her on the _Torrens,_ and when he could do nothing else for her at Sevastopol , he nearly died. He _did_ die.  

So what if he didn’t want to sleep with her. Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps what she could feel through the increasingly few layers of clothing they were wearing to bed was just for aesthetic purposes, to make him look human. In whatever way that he’s able to, he cares for her very deeply, and Ripley scolded herself. Whatever he is, he is enough.

“I’m…going to go, I think. Don’t wait up if you don’t want to,”

“Try to get some relaxation, Amy.” That smile, and the name she so recently welcomed him to use touched her in places of the heart and body that begged to keep being touched. Perhaps he sensed it at some level; he crossed the room to help her up by the arm, and once there kissed her softly on the lips.

“I will,”

The bathroom was at the end of the very short hallway, just beyond the room he had claimed as his office (the smaller of the two spares, though she tried to get him to take the larger one), and across from the room they made into the bedroom. She paused outside of it to look in, still unable to wrap her head around the fact that it was _theirs_. Samuels had made the bed that morning, and the mornings before at the spaceport hotel. Each night Ripley had been pulling the sheets out from their tucked-in edges, and telling him that he didn’t have to bother.

She turned towards the bathroom and with her hand already reaching out to turn on the light she stopped. _Bad idea, Ripley._ She steeled herself for half a second and looked over her shoulder. Samuels was still standing at the kitchen counter, watching her.

“You can join me if you want,” she tried to offer as nonchalantly as she could.

“Amanda?”

“Only if you’d like to, it’s—“

“I think I would like that very much,” _that_ smile again, only softer, and a bit hesitant.

“If you’re sure,” she kept trying as he walked across the flat towards her.

“Are you?”

She paused, at the door, giving half a second’s consideration before she continued into the bathroom, and giving her answer over her shoulder.

“Of course I am.”

There was a basic control panel in the tile above the tub, and she set it for the highest recommended temperature.  She wasn’t nervous about the idea of sex; Samuels was her sixth _boyfriend? Partner? Lover?_ —not including hook ups—and if this went the way she was starting to think it was, then he’d be the fifth she’d slept with.

However the fact that neither of them had ever named this delicate relationship led to a prickle of concern that worked its way up and down her spine, detracting from the subtle ache between her legs until the latter was nearly unnoticeable. There had to be a reason that he so _rarely_ touched her without direct invitation or request.

Her eyes wandered to the patterned ceiling that reminded her of the bathroom in her grandparents’ vacation home. Before her mother was gone, before they drained their accounts in court fees and legal costs fighting the company, before her grandfather was invited by a private ship—no company connection they could find—to try and find his daughter and never returning, before her grandmother was sick. The home in France was sold the same month she was put in her first foster house.  Maybe it was the homes that made her crave being alone; maybe they were also the reason that loneliness was increasingly draining. Either way, she was used to it, and forgot to shut off the water to leave enough depth for the presence of two people without it overflowing.

“ _Fuck_.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, turning the drain on for a few moments before looking up at him. Samuels was leaning against the bathroom door frame, two towels in hand, and wearing only his boxers.

“What’s with the bad posture? Normally you look like you’re wearing a back-brace,” it wasn’t meant to be insulting, but immediately his focus shifted to the bathtub itself, and the quiet gurgle of the drain. Water displacement. She had to let some out. That made sense—the fact that he’s actually going through with this, or that he’s inviting him in at all, did not make sense.

“It takes constant focus and tension for a synthetic to remain upright. When I am alone—or when I am in…the ever-rare company of someone who isn’t a business relation, I prefer to have ‘bad posture’ rather than increase wear on my musculature,” Amanda’s eyes went from where his shoulder made contact with the door, down the curved line of his body and then stopping at the waistline. “Replacement or even servicing of muscles and tendons is tedious and though it’s not painful it is…unpleasant.”

“You sometimes need your _muscles_ replaced? I thought only marine and security droids needed that?!” she wasn’t disgusted by it, and was more annoyed with herself for not reading that section on his hardware guide.

“I—Yes, all droids do eventually; they only need it more often. I might be able to get another two years out of mine if I’m careful,” he made a subtle move to leave, but—

“Stay. If you still want to. I’m sorry if bringing that up made you uncomfortable.” Amanda knew already, that there was a correlation between his dislike for talking about his technical aspects, and his physical closeness to her.

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Still want me here?”

“You didn’t just ask me that,” she said, completely unbothered by pulling her shirt off—he’s seen her naked already; he had even touched her when she was undressed, pulling her close after she looped her arms around his neck in the narrow shower of the _Torrens_ , holding her tight, therapeutic as the hot water had been.

He knew what she looked like undressed; knew her scars, the current bruises, the freckles, the birthmark on her hip, and yet now when she stepped out of her jeans he was _euphoric_ that she didn’t try to make eye contact with him. This was for human lovers; this was a part of her, of her life, of her body that he was merely intruding on.

“Do you like lavender?” she asked, taking the tie out of her hair.

“Why?”

“I think I got lavender salts at the store, unless I dreamed it. They’re supposed to be relaxing and God knows you could use some relaxing,” gingerly she climbed into the water, and slid the whole way under before sitting back up, her hair wet and slicked back, droplets of water like tears of laughter, ran down her face around the lines of her smile.

“Y-Yes—I mean…the scent is lovely; chemically calming, but I’m not sure it would have such a physiological effect on me. I don’t mind it,” he opened the cabinet under the vanity sink, and found the sack of pale purple salts; like raw amethyst crystals.

“Fuck _yes_ . Just drop a couple handfuls in here on your way in, _thank you_ .” She leaned back against the far side of the bath, drawing her knees up to give him room. Had he been biologically human, she knew that he would be very pale right now, or else very, _very_ red.  “If you want to keep the briefs on, go ahead. It’s okay. Whatever you’re okay with.”

“No, no; it's alright.”

She tried not to let her grin look too excited. Samuels had never once eyed her up like a piece of meat, never subjected her to the creepy gaze she had dealt with in engine shops since she was fourteen, so she felt a deep guilt at doing it to him. It wasn’t even that she thought he was… of course he’s handsome, yes, literally designed to be pleasant to look at yet unassuming, but he was not the sort she usually had a taste for. _Hell I don’t even normally like men_ . Sure her only other live-in lover was a man, but normally she didn’t even bother with them. Never with the older ones, let alone the white-bread business type that he looked. Her physical draw to his body was because it was _his_ . They had only met a small handful of times when she started to notice how much she loved the asymmetry of his natural smile; the lines in the corners of his eyes that crinkled when he laughed, the rich color of his eyes. She knew it then _I’m in deep,_ and she knew it now.

Why bother, she wondered, to make them appealing, lifelike, if they weren’t meant to be touched, to be loved? In the back of her mind she continued to hope that her gaze came across as loving rather than hungry when he finally faced her, completely bare.

“See I knew I felt something there. You look _very_ human.” She said, sinking a bit into the water when he turned around.

“…R-right. Thank you. It’s… If the company were to send any of us somewhere where we could not be recognized as synthetics, and if we were sharing close quarters with human crew—“

“Dead giveaway that you’re a synthetic when someone accidently catches you pants down and flat as a doll?” she tried to joke, tried to calm herself, but  the blush that had steadily risen on her cheeks proved that she failed at both.

“Ah…mostly. Yes. The idea is that I look unmemorable but still approachable. Not repulsive.”

“Bullshit, you’re beautiful,” Ripley said, not breaking eye contact. The nerves around his mouth tick up in to a slight smile on their own, and it concerned him that he wasn’t able to control it, but he filed the worry away for later.

“You’re lovely yourself,”

“So you keep telling me,” she tried to brush off the compliment with a slight snort, and a gesture to join her.

Christopher Samuels might have been the perfect image of calm, cool, collected, but in reality he was rarely any of the above. At the moment, his stress was _almost_ visible on his face, and if the ceiling light was on in the bathroom, not just the vanity lights, Amanda would have noticed. He stepped into the water carefully, mindful to stay on the opposite side as her.

“This is…calming for you?”

“Normally yes, but this is new,” she smiled, kindly, reassuring again.

“You mean you’ve never—“

“—Four. But only one other that I ever took a bath with, and two of the four were really short lived; and one was a…”

“Brief encounter?”

“Yeah. That.” A little bit of confidence crept back into her voice, “I don’t feel bad about it, or regret—well there’s some that I regret but that I haven’t held myself back. That doesn’t bother me.  Does it bother you?”

“Given statistics of average adult women, not to mention your exceptional beauty, I would have been more impressed had you instead admitted to never having a paramour.”

“You are so… ‘Paramour’? Really? No one talks like that,” it’d be a lie to say that she wasn’t wildly relieved that he was so accepting of her past, as relatively mild as it was. With so many things he had such old-fashioned views and approaches, she expected him to recoil. More than that there was still the concern that… “Were you avoiding this?”

“Sexual relations? I _am_ avoiding it.”

“If you’re not comfortable—Or if it doesn’t work like a—“

“Theoretically I can make it work. Theoretically, as the rest of the model it has veins, arteries, ‘blood’ flow of which I can control given a situation where such a task may be required—rerouting the flow or lowering pressure around a damaged area to avoid creating too large of a mess, for example.” Amanda listened with a mix of mechanical interest, and the careful attention of a woman listening to her partner’s medical concerns.

“…So you _can_ get it up is what you’re saying?” her lack of tact, as always, amused him, and he smiled unconsciously again.

“Theoretically,” he cringed

“Could you adjust your sense of touch to enjoy sex?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Again, theoretically I could but…  I can’t imagine why or how you would want to attempt a practical trial of whatever I’m capable of.”

“Of course I would. If you can, and you want to, then so do I.”

“It's much different.” He was quiet, voice distant, eyes unfocused, ”than just keeping companionship. I am—it’s a pale ghost of whatever you could have with a human.”

“I like ghosts,” she said dumbly.

Again coaxed a smile from him even as he told her: “I’m so afraid that I’ll disgust you.”

“You could never—“

“I know I don’t love the same or as much as a human because each day the thought of you ordering me out is more unbearable than the last. I find that…a thing that should be infinite is limited for me. I know that you’re aware of what I am, and aware of the social stigma against sexual relations with synthetics… I’m aware too, more than you are. Still, even if its selfish, and even if selfishness is the most human of what I am capable of—I do know that I care about you and love you as much as I can.”

Amanda could have cried out of self pity that the closest she’s gotten to love as an adult is a machine, out of shame for dismissing someone so important and so good and so real a machine, out of overwhelming inferiority because she was the undeserving one, she was the one that killed all those left on— _not here, not now, don’t do this to him_.

“I don’t know any pretty words, or quotes, or poems; even _saying_ it is hard for me—not because its you—because it’s hard for me to say it at all: I adore you. And if you’re still learning I don’t care. If you’re still coming into your own sentience—you’re more than enough. For anyone.”

“I would be…honored then if—“

“I’m asking if you’d be interested in fucking not getting married, you ridiculous over gallant plastic prince charming.” Water sloshed over the side of the bath as she tried her best to move closer to him without climbing on him.

“I’ll leave—when the day comes you no longer—“

“It won’t happen,” and with her arm around his neck, her warmth—her hand on the side of his face, he could almost see it, he learned quickly by design but second guessed this every time: the question in her eyes if it would be alright to kiss him. His answer came with a slight tilt forward (and a bit left, a newly learned thing in itself), but Ripley’s tongue at his lips made him recoil.

“I thought you were doing this to relax,” he said.

“Relax, de-stress, same thing.”

“I wouldn’t know,”

“Calm, cool, collected Christopher doesn’t know what it means to be relaxed?” she didn’t that was for certain. She could feel him, very real, shoulders stiff with worry.

“I have never once been relaxed.”

“Then we will work on that”

“I’m afraid I’ll never relax around you.” As romantic of a sentiment as it was, she did her best to brush it away: sometimes his affections verged on worship and it made her uncomfortable, but as with everything else, it could be dealt with another time.

“ _Try_. Lean back—let go—I know how you work, stop stressing your musculature, stop holding your skeletal system in place and let it slack,”

“I’ll sink.”

“You won’t,”

He lowered a little into the water, and air escaped his lips close enough that she could feel it, scentless, warm

“Better?”

“You are too good for me,”

“You have not spent enough time around human men,”

“Then I am truly sorry none of them saw that you are truthfully worth the praise and adoration.”

“See—no one I’ve ever been with has ever talked like that,”

“Not to you? They should have.”

“I don’t think you’ve met many women either—“

“Yes I have. I’m a human relations specialist. I’ve met and worked with many, many humans, so know that when I tell you that you are the most incredible person to me, it isn’t out of sheltered ignorance. I mean it.”

“Wow…okay…and here I—“

“Thought I’d leave you after meeting better?”

“…Yeah.”

“It won’t happen,”

“You won’t eventually meet an intelligent older woman, who loves books and wine and quiet nights—“

“You are intelligent, you are older than me, you do enjoy books and wine, and silence.”

“Some day, you’re going to regret ascribing that much to me,”  she sank a little farther down, matching him, her head on his shoulder, her chin touching the water. It was _nice_. It was comforting and calming, and both he and the water were still warm, and the lavender-scented steam off of the bath curled pleasantly around the room. The thought struck her that this was how intimacy should feel, reassuring and at home, and maybe both their fears were baseless, and this could somehow last.

“How much about my specific model do you know?”

“Random. Okay, why?”

“You mentioned my nervous system,”

“I told you before I know basic synthetic and roboti—“

“You specifically said ‘your’ you knew that I could adjust it.”

“Alright so I’ve been reading your guidebooks and service manuals.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because my nervy-metal friend, you know a lot about me,” she turned slightly to meet his eyes; she’d have to learn how to make eye contact with him through less-than easy situations. “And I think it’s only fair if I know how you tick. Specifically you, not just a general android…”

“There’s no _reason_ to—“

“If something happens to you, I know quick fixes, or when its something out of my skill level. I need to know what you need for upkeep, and I _want_ to know. What’s so wrong with it?”

“I hoped that the illusion is enough, that maybe sometimes you could look at me and forget.”

“Honey you don’t have a heartbeat. You don’t breathe very much.  I’ve seen you snap Seegson droid necks with one hand. No one that spends as much time around you as…as I hope to would be fooled for long. _And it doesn’t matter to me_.”

“There’s no way that—“

“I mean _sometimes_ but you’re _you_ and I’m not constantly thinking ‘oh wow how much battery does he have left’ but its _there_.” She reached into the water and took up his hand in hers, the texture changed less than her own from being submerged, and held it up to examine something she read was there but never noticed. On the tip of each finger, and in the middle of the palm was the small logo for his parent company, the overlapped W and Y. To anyone they were the most obvious external signs that he wasn’t human.

She kissed each of them.

“How doesn’t it bother you?”

“It does, but not in any of the ways you’re afraid of,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to, seriously.”

“I really do, I didn’t… I’m not used to people being so accepting of me as a person.”

“Well people are assholes so… I’m not special, just a decent human and I’m sorry there aren’t many of them.”

        Gently he kissed her forehead, worried a little that two uninvited moments of romantic contact were too much in one night, but also assured by the look on her face that this was very welcome.  She rested closer, softly setting her head on his shoulder, listening to the quiet thrum of his inner components.

        Of all the possible outcomes of his hesitant and inwardly panicked trip to invite her out on the _Torrens_ , this was quite possibly one of the better ones. Sure, it wasn’t following the best of events, or even the second or third best pattern of events, and true any day someone from the Company was going to come knocking on their door asking for their property back, but the water here was just warm enough to not overheat him and Amanda Ripley was rested contently at his side. He put a careful arm around her shoulders, which only invited further contact of her turning to kiss his collarbone, her legs carefully bent up to avoid his lap—not that he would have _minded_ , but he was endlessly grateful for her drawing her own boundaries out of respect for him as a person—and water spilling all over the floor.

The cool air in comparison to the bath did something increasingly curious to her nipples, not that he didn’t _know_ that that was the biological reaction but he’d never _seen_ it happen, and of _bloody course she’s opening her eyes up now that’s absolutely per_ —

“What are you looking at?” she smirked, trying hard to contain a giggle.

“I…curiosity?”

“Really?” without moving from her spot at his shoulder, she closed her eyes again, finding his hand and resting it heavily over her left breast. “How curious?”

“I’m aware of the function and design of the human body and I’ve felt yours in the ship showers bare and clothed in your bed—“

“Our bed,”

“Yes…But never in a purposefully—stimulating?—way.”

“For you or me?”

“Both, but touch won’t do much for me, I have full control over any possible functions physically, and you don’t have to touch me, or let me handle you in any way that you don’t—“

Amanda gently put her hand over his, pressing and moving it into the pattern of movements she liked.

“Go on, anyway that I don’t like it? Because I kind of do like this,”

“Then…Why didn’t you ever—you’ve had opportunity before.”

“Before you didn’t seem like you wanted anything. Also right now you’re soaking wet and nearly all your clothes are in the bedroom hamper, you can’t really run away with cold feet—but please, please tell me if anything is too much or too far or too— _where is that hand going?_ ”

He stopped moving, horrified panic written over his face,

“I—I was thinking I could move across from you if y-you wanted…to try something else…”

“Sorry I panicked. You can touch me wherever you want, but—it’s been a while. And you’re different—“

“I know.”

“Different in _good_ way. I care a lot more about you than I did the last person I did anything like this with.” Her last time came about out of pure boredom and misery, and a little too much homebrewed tequila on a Marine port job. The gunner—the girl who invited her down to the mess for the contraband drinking party in the first place—that she was trying to flirt with opted to go back to bed, alone, and Ripley settled on the company of a too fast and too boring young recruit that looked nostalgically like an older, cleaned up version of her first boyfriend. She wasn’t nervous then, but she was very nervous now.

“And what if I’m not…good at this?”

“You’ll learn, and if you don’t like the actual intercourse part, there’s other things, or even nothing at all.”

“If that’s the case then please…if you ever want…I would think nothing ill of you if you sought human contact else—“

“ _A_ r _e you serious_?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t be insulted or upset—“

“You wouldn’t be upset if I told you ‘You’re just not enough, so I’m going to leave tonight to have a random hook up with a stranger, and leave you alone.’”

“I wouldn’t want to _deny_ you any aspect of a human relationship.”

“There are _vibrators for a reason_. Sex isn’t that important to me, at least not more important than you. Besides…you’ve got hands and a tongue for a reason.”

“Kissing you is very nice, but I don’t think it’s the same as sexual relations,”

“Again, hands and a tongue.”

“I…I’m missing something.”

“Once again, _how_ much of the internet was filtered at the offices?”

“…Most of it.”

“Then how the _fuck_ do you know what—“

“Heterosexual intercourse is integral in human biology, hence my understanding of it. A vague sense of homosexual as well, for medical understanding but anything more arcane than that I…”

“You poor innocent little calculator,” she almost wanted to giggle but he was getting increasingly warm and she didn’t think letting him overheat right now was that good of an idea.

“ _Please_ find another term of endearment that doesn’t revolve around a technical aspect of my physiology. As for the…rest of it, no, I’m not an _idiot_ but the books held in Weyland Yutani’s office library don’t exactly…”

“Do you know what oral sex is?” she asked bluntly

“By the name and the mention of tongues I can assume thank you.”

“Then do you realize that it isn’t just for me either.”

“…. ** _what_**?”

“I mean if you want, I don’t usually offer that unless it’s reciprocated and the prospective person smelled like they showered within the past six hours but you don’t sweat or have any other fluids so I really wouldn’t mind if—“

“Not right now, thank you.”

“Okay,” she moved back to her first place across from him, her legs stretched up this time alongside his: an awkward fit, but she saw a little light in his eyes come back with the contact.

“Wait, wait, so you would…actually put your mouth around—“

“Can you say penis?”

“Can you _please_ take it easier on me?”

“Is it a program reason? Some kind of etiquette coding that keeps you from?”

“No, I just find it crass.”

“You’re so prim, I love you,” she laughed, gently smacking water in his direction. Instead of splashing back at her though, he was just giving her that look again, like she was a ghost, hard to find, rare to witness, and so reassuring of the existence of a soul that he couldn’t look away. “What?”

“Did you mean it, or was that a social, hyperbolic statement for—“   

“Oh my God, did I say—“

“You did,” his smile was soft, minutes or a lifetime ago he thought she might never say it to him, no matter how much she showed it, hearing her tell him was completely different. Both of his hands sought hers from the water, and he pulled both to his mouth kissing her hands as they twined with his. “And if you don’t mind,” he stood up and gently pulled her with him, “Would you like to take this elsewhere?”

“There’s a rule that one of my health teachers said in middle school over a decade ago. Pretty sure its off an old show I saw though.”

“What?”

“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“I’ve _been_ saying it,”

“Well I want to hear it again.”

 “Dry off, because the I don’t want to ruin the new duvet while you're teaching me how to make love with you.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, and figured that her wide eyes and bright red cheeks were a good thing in this situation.

“Wait,” she said.

“Is something wrong?”

Amanda lifted his WY tags off from around his neck, and dropped them on the floor.

“You’re not theirs.”

* * *

 

“If I do anything, anything at all that you don’t like tell me and I’ll stop, or we can both stop entirely or—“

“I will,”

“I’ll be gentle—“

“I trust you, luv.”

The slight smile sold it for her, and she smiled back, and kissed him tenderly, gently pushing him down onto the sheets.

“Lie down, relax,” she couldn’t tell now: no glasses, no contacts, and barely any light at this distance if he was worried or not, but he was no more tense. “You said touch doesn’t stimulate you?”

“I can’t imagine it would,”

She was careful, not sure how delicate he was—

“What’s on your hand?”

“Lube?”

“…. when did you get it?”

“I’ve had it? Is it okay?”

“Yes.”

Gently she touched him again, curious at first, just trying to feel for any differences between him and a human. Strangely enough, he was cooler, but was also slowly warming under her fingers,

“Working?”

“I-I redirected… local fluids and—you don’t have to keep rubbing at it—“

“Do you enjoy it?”

“…Yes. I’m adjusting…the sense of feeling and it—oh…interesting—“

“Interesting?” she tried not to laugh.

“Not how I thought this would feel,”

“So you _have_ thought about it,”

“…Not in excess,”

“It’s okay, really…” Amanda wanted patience with this, wanted to take it as slow as needed, even if it meant never. “Do you want to touch me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” whatever his vocal simulator did sounded almost like a growl.

“Where?” she purred in reply.

“I—How do you want me to?”

“What?” she was pulled back out of the daze in a second, it was so far from what she expected him to say.

“How do you like to be touched? I don’t want to…do something you don’t like.”

“You’re already the best lover I ever had, you know that?”

“You didn’t answer—“

“You’re also awfully hard if you want to give this a try?”

“Amy?”

“Yes?”

“I want you to…enjoy this too.”

“I already am, I’m with you, and you feel good. We’ll worry about me another time okay?”

“That doesn’t seem very—“

“This is your _first time_ being undressed in front of a living, breathing human, you are under no obligation to get me to orgasm.”

“As you partner, I think I am.”

“You really aren’t, not tonight at least. Tomorrow? Because I’m afraid you’re going to burst this thing and that’s the _farthest_ thing from sexy I can think of.”

“It can’t _burst_.”

“Good to know.”

“I won’t ejaculate either,”

“Thank _fuck_.”

“What?”

“No birth control, no mess, wanting to get me to come before you’ve ever had sex for the first time? You really are the perfect lover, or at least close. You can’t blush, but you’re getting very warm.”

“Alright…if—how do I ah, get…in?”

“I’ll take care of this okay? Just please tell me, _please_ if you don’t like it. Promise me.”

“Promise.”

The actual act was the easy part of this, he was completely willing to let her slowly ease onto his member.  She carefully felt the fit of him, unable to not compare to past male partners and realized how if she had him custom made for her he couldn’t be any better.

“Good?” she reached for his hands, twined her fingers through his. Samuels didn’t exhale the way that a human would, but Ripley heard his respirator fans let out the ‘breath’ he was holding as if it was a sigh of pleasure.

“Absolutely,” he lied, careful to sound genuine as she did, trying to relax all but a few specific muscles. The feedback was interesting, her softness and warmth inside felt like a physical representation of emotional inside, and every one of her carefully controlled motions played on his heightened nerves, threatening to shut out the logical part of his mind entirely. The part that was screaming at him to lift her off of him, pull out of her and leave _this is morally deviant, it’s crude, it’s not what you’re made for, it’s not what_ she’s _made for, you’re a computer with limbs and she deserves a human lover and human experience not a robot for God’s sake you’re a machine, you’re a_ —“

“Christopher?”

“Hmm?”

“Thought you blacked out for a second. Does it still feel good?” Amanda Ripley, the most stunning and strong woman he ever met, was gently riding him to the point that his physical senses were coming in and out as she went on.  ‘Good’ didn’t exactly cover the alchemy of thoughts and feelings he was trying to sort through. She let go of one of his hands, maybe a little less shy from the darkness; he knew she couldn’t see very well, the only light in the room coming in from the streetlamps outside through the cracks in the curtain. He could see in the light clearly enough, and now could see her reaching down to where they connected, touching just above where they met

“I can do that,”

“It’s okay,” her voice was a whisper, more air than vocals, more breath than sound—something he was entirely incapable of by design, despite the fact that he was getting signals in his head that something was going wrong with his vocals.

“You feel _wonderful_ ,” she said.

“Thank you?” he knew what she meant, but wasn’t sure how he was supposed to reply, after all, he didn’t design himself.

She reacted with a slight laugh, almost a giggle as she tried something new, a little faster, letting him in a little deeper, feeling more snug around him, and he found his now-empty hands digging into the sheets. Logical activity shut down, visual, could have been better, night vision certainly gone; his hearing wasn’t _horrible_ , but it was not at full capacity either, and he didn’t think that he was controlling his pulse anymore, in _any_ part of his body.

“Let go,” she whispered, “it’s okay.”

Electrical shock went through at least one part of his central computer, nearly causing emergency shut down, and the preoccupation of sorting out if this was a dangerous feeling or not kept him distracted enough that he didn’t notice Ripley’s smile at his tense frame, at his pulse, at the throbbing intensity that neared pain. She didn’t stop her motions until she felt his length finally go as limp as the rest of him.

She climbed off him with the same delicacy as she lent to the rest of her motions this evening, and laid down next to him, pressing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“Are you alive?”

“Evidentially…I can reach orgasm,”

Amanda’s laugh bore even further resemblance to a giggle as she levered herself up on her elbows to lean over and kiss him on the mouth; he kissed her back, snaking a hand up the back of her neck and into her hair.

“Did you like it?”

“I’m…not sure how to react to it. Interior pressure; several error alarms going off in intervals—oh God, Amanda I didn’t shock you?”

“Mm I was pleasantly surprised, not shocked,”

“No, no, I mean… I felt some kind of electrical jolt in my processors.”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh… perhaps it was part of my—how I experience…”

“We can try again in the morning if you’d like.”

“Are you tired?” he was confused, if she was so eager, then surely she’d want to go again, and soon.

“Not really,”

“Then I don’t mind going again, if you don’t want to wait until morning,”

“Honey, didn’t you know that—“

“I don’t need any time. I’m fully aware of how a human male’s anatomies would function in this case, but—“

“ _Are you serious_?”

“Is that... okay?”

“Christopher, honestly-- You’re very wrong, I’m the one that doesn’t deserve you.”

“Having the capability to become a good lover doesn’t seem to make up for what I’m lacking,”

“Oh hell,” she rolled her eyes.  “Can’t we just… fine you’re not perfect, I’m not perfect but we’re…We’ll work out, okay?”

“I trust you,” he said.

Bad things usually happened when people put their trust in her, and hearing him say it worried her the same way his more adoring statements did. She wasn't half the hero that he made her sound. Still, it could wait.

“And unless you’re really randy, how about we wait until morning?”

“If you wish,” he tilted his head enough to kiss her again, get his arm entirely around her, hugging her close. “I love you.”

“Same,” she tried, not quite able to summon the words despite feeling them. “Usually this involves clean up…”

“Here, I can take care of—“ Amanda latched onto him when he tried to get up.

“Give it a little while, I don’t want to move yet.” She wasn’t tired, but this was cozier than she’d ever been post-coital, his voice was kind, quiet—he couldn’t whisper, but he played his voice at a lower volume, and it was sweetly lulling. The closeness, the contact, the affection....it was peaceful and felt safe, felt like  _home_.

Samuels waited until she was asleep before he pulled a clean sheet up over her, kissed her forehead, and retreated to clean up. He tidied the bathroom, found some clothes, and returned to his usual nightly vigil of watching the apartment from the main room while Ripley slept on, unaware.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Outre didn't beta this chapter so any disasters are entirely on me.

 

A faint light from under the curtain crossed Amanda’s eyes and she scrunched them shut tighter. She’d never technically been anyone’s first before, never had that responsibility to a partner before, but it was nice. Samuels had seemed to enjoy himself, and though she could tell that he had already gotten up from the smell and sound of someone cooking in the other room (another sign she had woken up later than intended) he didn’t run off afterward in mortifying humiliation.

 _And the feel of that_ … between him, her four previous bedmates, and a small handful of toys, he was easily the best feeling, though perhaps she was a touch lovesick and giving him too much credit. Either way, it felt incredibly right and real, and if he never wanted to leave (not that she didn’t think this before the previous night) she’d be more than fine with that. And of course, he still has plenty of room to learn. _Plenty of time_ she thought, humming through a sigh.

He would come in to wake her when breakfast was ready.

Easily enough time.

She rolled over onto his pillow, and with his clean, inorganic scent in her nose she stretched out, and reached under the sheets.

 

* * *

 

Even if their bedroom door was closed, and his hearing closer to human than espionage-grade audio recorder, he would probably have been able to hear her. It isn’t the first time that she’s done this, the night before last he had heard her in the shower, but then she had tried very hard to hide any sounds she made. She wasn’t now, and though he was partly embarrassed that she was probably feeling unfulfilled by their activities, the idea that he managed to arouse her enough to seek release left him strangely pleased.

“Amy?” he called gently after a moment of silence from their room.

“Morning,” a human couldn’t have picked up her answer; she was quiet, melodic. A slight creak of the bed was followed by her heavy footsteps to the bathroom. From there she walked out to the counter bar of the kitchen in a pair of her underwear, and one of his shirts. He leaned across the counter to kiss her.

 “Good morning, luv,” all the data input (quick survey of her face, the read out of her temperature and pulse from the kiss, speed of movement) said she was joyful, nearly _giddy_. “What has you so…perky?”

“Perky? That’s a new one too. Nothing, just you,” she kissed him again, relishing the bright almost-too-white smile he wore when she pulled away.

“Just me?”

“Well…waking up to a handsome shirtless guy cooking breakfast is a great view. And your kissing is getting more,” she paused, pouted a little, and looked back up to him, “More, well,  you know?”

“Human? Better?”

“No, silly… I think you’re getting more confident.”

“I think you’re right.”

“I know I am.”

He smiled brightly at her, turning his back a moment to her a plate, piling it with French toast and blueberries rolled in sugar.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” she said when he set it in front of her

“Not entirely, or you wouldn’t have had to...please yourself this morning.”

“The morning mphhh,” she said between bites, “Is not over yet, and it isn’t like we have any actual plans. I’m curious to see your reactions to missionary.”

“Is that a euphemism for oral sex?”

Amanda choked for a second, cleared her throat, and took a gulp of tea, nearly scalding herself.

“No, um. It’s not. It’s a kind of basic position, I’d be on my back and you would be on top of me—“

“I’d rather not—I’m afraid that I’d forget to keep my weight off of you.”

“You don’t weigh that much more than a human of your size.”

“Yes I do—“

“Fine but you’re not gonna _suffocate me_.”

“But it wouldn’t be comfortable, and might even hurt—“

“Worth it.”

“You are very stubborn,”

“Mmhmm and I happen to remember a certain bot telling me that that was the first reason that he took a liking to me,” he smiled at her as if he was about to start laughing, but then didn’t, and the thought occurred to Ripley that—

“Samuels you can’t laugh, can you?”

Immediately the joy ran off his face and she regretted asking.

“Nor cry, nor sing. I don’t feel pain or pleasure quite the same as a human, as you learned last night I could never father children, and—“

“I didn’t want this to go downhill I was just asking.”

“Asking about whether or not I’m capable of expressing humor or happiness—“

“You over-dramatic—“

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine, last night was the first time I’ve slept solidly through more than six hours  without waking up screaming or needing to throw up. I killed—I don’t even know how many people—less than a month ago and you’re the only bright thing that I have had in so _fucking long_ and all you can do is—“

“You didn’t have a choice in what you did, any one of them could have been a carrier—“

“What would you have done? If you had that chance how would you have handled it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Right because you _can’t_ hurt anyone. You’d have found a way to save them. You should have—“

“Who else would have gotten through to Apollo?”

“I don’t _know_ but you wouldn’t have had to let everyone—“

“And I can hurt people.”

Amanda sniffled harshly, but only once, and blinked her eyes hard. Twenty four hours without crying. She wasn’t breaking that.

“What the hell are you—“

“Don’t be afraid,” he rounded the counter to stand in front of her, “Waits made a cold remark and I—“

“What did—“

“He said if you were killed that it would have been your fault and it would have been deserved. I stood up with intention to cause harm, or at the very least threaten him. I don’t know if I would have killed him had you not returned”

“No wonder he didn’t like you.”

“I think it's part of my errors, the thoughts and feelings, emotions—“

“Anger and rage are human,” she said.

“I shouldn’t be arguing with you.”

A long half-minute of silence slunk by before Ripley managed her temper and pride.

“A short, loud bit of venting now and then might be the norm until we’re both steady on our feet again. Apologies in advance if I say anything stupid.” she added.

Christopher set a hand on her knee; in his mind it was less intimate of an action than taking her hand, less personal, but Amanda lifted it and kissed the back of it. She stood up then and hugged him tight.

“I was joking last night when I said it was about you having full control over your ability to get erect, but for so many reasons it’s true: you deserve a lot better than me. I didn’t deserve to get out of there alive let alone have someone as kind as you. Fuck, even if I didn’t kill anybody then I still wouldn’t have earned you.”

“Despite erotica not being an offering I have read extensively, and any love story I have heard being much more held back: most of the old writers and philosophers are in agreement that love isn’t earned, it’s given.” The now-familiar feeling of her body in his arms below the long-familiar texture of his shirt was a human combination that he couldn’t get tired of. He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, felt the tear trails on her face. She looked down. “If it helps, I would be crying too, and a lot at that, were I able.”

 _How isn’t he human?_ The wonder echoed in the back of her mind as she finally hugged him back. The texture of his skin was slightly off, but maybe she wouldn’t notice if she didn’t know. Did anyone he worked with in the past not realize he wasn’t real? Did anyone ever talk to him like a person, shake his hand over a business deal with a smile? Did a woman ever smile at him welcomingly on her way out of the office? Doubtful. There were so many of his model there that it’d be hard to hide the truth for too long. Her hand in his hair felt slightly less human than the rest of him: too soft, too fine, and too _nice_.

When he spoke she couldn’t feel the reverb in his chest; according to the guides his voice box wasn’t even in his throat, but an audio device at the back of the mouth. Still, the uniqueness of it was comfortingly him.

“Finish eating, and then the rest of the day is up to you.”

“You don’t want to call any shots?”

“I’d rather you show me what you enjoy.”

“Please have an opinion.”

“Alright,” he sighed, absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles into her back, “We still have a lot we need for the flat, and you did mention more clothing…and it could be…healthy to go outside again.”

“I was hoping your opinion would involve going back to bed, or trying out the sofa—“

“Staying shut in here isn’t going to help you. For the past four months you’ve hardly seen anyone other than myself and—“ he paused. The names of the _Torrens_ crew, the names of those at the station refused to come, “It would be better for you to go outside.”

Amanda could see where this was leading up to: a talk they had already on the ship before arriving.

“I’m not seeing a therapist.”

“Please,” he encouraged softly, pressing his lips to the crown of her head, “The military base has doctors who specialize in extreme traumas, they work with the Company, you worked for the Company; they’d take you as a patient.”

“They’ll want to know what happened.”

“Everyone on Luna knows you’re alive; the _Torrens_ docking information would have been—“

“But they don’t know that _you’re_ alive.”

“Verlaine would have reported that I was—“

“I said I took some salvage and personal effects with me. I told Verlaine I would file for you, and then I didn’t. Or I wrote you off as salvaged junk. Sorry about that,” she gently pushed out from his embrace, and crossed her arms over her chest, no longer comfortable with just how see-through his shirt was.

“About calling me salvaged junk or lying to me?”

“Both.”

“Ripley, you could get sentencing for theft--not only myself, but my components, my cords, transport charger, everything I brought with me..”

“ _It is bullshit._ Alright? They can’t _fucking own you_ , you’re a goddamn person not a fucking machine and I don’t care, they owe me, they took my mom they killed my friend, I spent my entire life thinking that everyone left because they couldn’t stand to be around me and—You sought me out. You found me and cared and it’s the opposite of what everyone else has ever done and I don’t want you to get taken from me by them too.”

He tried to step closer to match her steps away from him, but after two paces Christopher couldn’t continue onwards. Protocols slowed him down to a stop: Amanda didn’t want contact and was clearly uncomfortable.

“No one left you by choice, and you aren’t the only person out there that Weyland-Yutani left stranded in its path. So if you’d reach out for some kind of help instead of shutting in with me then—“

“What’s so wrong with not wanting to go out?” she wasn’t crying anymore, and didn’t even bother raising her voice.

“I’m not a good substitute for human contact,” he said with a sad smile.

“We’ve been…. _together_... for barely any time at all and I’m already tired of walking on eggshells with you; trying to do whatever I can to make you feel accepted without—“

“Please don’t—“

“Tell me you think I’m pathetic because I’m…I’m…”

“Trying to play at a relationship with a stolen synthetic?”

“I— _I think I love you_ , and I can barely even say it and…”

“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked flatly. He went and got her a glass of water and set it down by her cooling mug of tea.  She drank it slowly. She blew her nose in her napkin and stood up, threw it out, and washed her hands at the sink, careful to leave space between herself and this strange person. Or maybe she was the strange person. She wasn’t sure.

“God we’re a pair,” she muttered, taking a seat again.

Samuels, emboldened by her referring to them as a unit and not individuals, reached out slightly. When Amanda didn’t inch away, he set his hand on her shoulder.

“You have been through hell and I’m begging you, get some kind of help.”

“Not yet…and I can’t answer questions, if they don’t know that you’re alive then—“

“I’ve been using my company card to pay for things. They know exactly where I am, so please don’t use protecting me as an excuse to avoid getting better.”

“You were _using a traceable card_?!”

“I didn’t think we were trying to lie to the authorities.” he said.

“Samuels what the _fuck_?”

“I wasn’t about to watch you use your own very limited resources to pay for things that I was going to be making use of.”

“Your _chivalry_ is going to get you killed. And I don’t even know what they’ll do to me.”

The fact that his chivalry had already gotten him killed once wasn’t mentioned by either of them. They were both silent for a long moment.

“Pretend you didn’t know,” he said.

“Didn’t know _what_?”

“That I’m…a synthetic. Tell them you had no idea, that I never said anything, and you didn’t notice.”

“ _Honey_ you do _not_ pass for human in close quarters, I’m sorry.”

“Are you aware that you’ve referred to me with that term on multiple occasions now?”

Amanda gaped at him.

“We’ve had two arguments and now are discussing how to _not_ get you killed or kidnapped and you’re going to question me about _pet names_?”

“Well…You’re very hesitant with affections, so I didn’t know if you knew that you—“

“Only aware of it a little; but it is not the time.”

“Apologies,” he said.

“What about your friend, the human on your office floor—“

“Deckard is hardly my friend,”

“You said he’s kinder to you than the others. Could we ask him for help?”

“I don’t know,” he seemed to be absent-minded when he started stroking her hair; he noted in the back of his mind once again that he greatly preferred her with her hair loose like this. “If he morally disagrees on the grounds of stolen property or on the grounds of sexual morals then he might be the worst choice. He could take it as an act of betrayal or rebellion.”

“Even for advice in abstract, you could ask what the legality would be.”

“Are you thinking about turning yourself in?”

She paused before answering him, asking herself too what the goal would be of cutting their time together short.

“I’m thinking about whatever it’s going to take to convince them to…” Amanda cringed, “to _sell_ you to me.”

“Unless you have eight hundred grand lying in some secret account somewhere I don’t see how—“

“You still think you’re worth that much now, hot-shot? After what you’ve been through? You’re not the most recent line, you’re an office-specific model, _and_ you’ve taken some severe damaged _and_ you are technically—according to salvager’s rights—Conner’s. And there are payouts…insurance…I could try to sue them for damages with my payment from the trip and…”

“That still isn’t enough,” he sat down on the sofa across the living room half of the main area, and she followed him.

“I’ll turn down anything they want to give me and demand you instead. You’re worth nothing to them, and a lot to me,” she turned around, and straddled his lap, looking down to meet his eyes.

“It would…limit the chances of charges being brought against you.”

“We have to think of how to argue for it though. Prove you don’t know enough to be worth it to them to keep you.”

“You’ll need registration to keep a synthetic,” he said.

“I’ll make them include it. What else?”

“You’ll have to explain why you want to keep me, in case they offer another model in my place.”

“I’ll tell them it’s because you’re a gentleman and already adapted to suit what I could ever need from an assistant android.”

“Not because,” he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss at the base of her neck. To hell with the worry, with the arguing, with the high possibility that he won’t see her again after they report to the Company: he rerouted several veins of his circulatory system. “Not because you told me I feel wonderful?”

“You…” she nearly moaned, unable to help it. “Have spent the past half hour telling me we have more important things to worry about. Doctors. My sanity. Your freedom. Us. And _now you’re—“_

 _“_ If I’m losing you so quickly then let’s enjoy what time we have.”

“You’re not losing me. I’m not going to let that— _oh God would you stop_ —happen to you— _I mean it_.” Contrary to her words of protest, she started rocking slowly and encouragingly against him and humming, pleased. He plucked open the buttons of his shirt that she was wearing, slowly, one by one.

“The sooner we go, the more they may look at things in your favor,”

“Our favor,” she corrected gently.

“Outside of this flat, I fear that everything that’s ‘ours’ is only yours.”

Ripley wanted to take a look in his fancy brain and see what was going on, how he was thinking, because how could he _still_ focus with that hardness growing. Maybe she was only dying for his continued touch out of some kind of coping mechanism but he was looking up at her with wide, innocent dark eyes, looking for an answer to a question she didn’t know, and when she nodded he lowered his lips to her breast.

“How the _fuck_ did you learn so fast?”

“You let me touch you last night, feel you. Showed me how to touch you, but I’d like to try something else.”

“Oh?”

“Turn around.”

“Tell me why first, I have my limits.”

“I think it would be more comfortable position for you to sit in,”

“For what?”

“I…I was going to try and provide clitoral stimulation?”

“You know what _a clit_ is but you didn’t know what oral was?”

“….I know anatomy, functions, and the definitions of words enough _gather_ some points, and I’m not oblivious to the fact that you’ve been, ah, _providing_ for yourself since the departure of the Torrens.”

She wasn’t going to deny it, much less lie to him; she turned around carefully, and settled back against him. He reached around her and slid his hands delicately under the waistband of her underwear, and slid them down her thighs; she pushed them down the rest of the way. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, and he turned to kiss whatever part of her he could.

“Tell me how you do it,”

“Do what feels right to you, and I’ll stop you if it doesn’t work.”

Slowly, barely giving any pressure at all he sought out his mark and rubbed at it softly, nearly the same way she started on him last night, and Ripley smiled.

“Almost, but not quite...Little bit harder, try circling around it…That’s it, that’s…. _mmmnnnice_ …”

It only took him a few minutes, and a little bit of guidance before she writhed against him, arching into his hand, letting out a none-held-back vocal sigh; she held his hand to her when he tried to pull away, letting him feel her pulse.

“Better?” He asked. Amanda turned around, and kissed him.

“Very. Holy _shit_ you pick up on things quick,” she kissed him again, waiting to see if he’d deepen it or break away, but he did neither. Instead he seemed to enjoy the chastity of the closed-lip kiss in contrast to the rest of their touches. She gave him her best catlike smile. “You’re still hard if you want to try anything else,”

“I know I am, I have full control over it.”

“Does that mean you want to keep going?”

“If you do.”

“I do but--at some point we do have to… If I don’t go to them today I don’t think I will. And I don’t think we’d last long on the run, and with you using a card they’re tracking then how long do we have? I want to keep you by the books, iron clad contract, I want you so that they can’t touch you even if you ever want to leave me.”

“In case…it’s the last time I get to have alone with you I’d like to...well... talk with you as well...”

“That sounds more important, honestly. And I really don’t...sex really isn’t that important.”

“So you’ve said. Does that mean you--if by some...miracle we don’t have to part--wouldn’t be interested in it very often?”

Ripley took her time to come up with her reply:

“I would be interested in intimate affections of any kind when you are also interested. You’ll learn when it feels right for you, when it does for me; and it won’t take long judging by how well you’ve learned so far. If that means we end up having a really vanilla sex life, then that’ll make the rarity of it all the nicer. If that means we end up being _that_ couple that gets it on like rabbits, then so be it.”

“A couple,” Christopher repeated, more to reiterate that he heard correctly, rather than out of genuine surprise.

“Yes. One of those.”

“If we can, would we stay here?”

“As in right now, or--”

“If we went to the offices, if they allowed me to stay, would we continue to live in Luna or would we live on-planet?”

“I don’t know. My mom was born here, I was born here. When my dad took leave after my mom wasn’t allowed it, we moved to the first open house in their price range. Wisconsin, but I don’t remember much. Just little things; the layout of our house, the static in the TV when the volume was too loud; my dad’s vintage science fiction collection. He left one night, and my mom couldn’t--I told you the story already, I’m sorry. Anyway. I have nice memories of her parents’ house in France but I could never afford a room at that house now let alone the whole place.”

“So...you’d rather stay here?”

“For now. Maybe in the future we could find somewhere else, on-planet or a colony where nobody would care if they found out about us, about you.”

“We certainly could never afford a house on Luna, even if you put me out to work.”

“Put you out? If you want a job, if you’re bored, or that desperate to help me out financially I won’t hold you back. Apply to whatever you want, whatever would accept you.”

“They would pay you,”

“Why?”

“It...hiring out a privately owned synthetic is...Well, it follows protocols for a rental appliance more than--”

“Okay, no. Unless you can pass for human somewhere, I am _not_ going to _rent_ you out for work. Absolutely not,”

“I--” a protocol stopped him from saying _I love you_ again; correcting the words to what he meant to stay insead: “admire your….obstinate way of reacting to the accepted standards of android treatment.” It was concerning, despite coding having caught the error, he shouldn’t have been able to accidentally say the wrong words.

“But seriously, we don’t need to stress ourselves about money already; this place is big enough. It’s not like we would ever have kids, or visiting relatives.”

“No…” They were only more items to add to the list of things he was preventing Ripley from ever having, but the knowledge that he probably wouldn’t exist the next day stopped him from telling her that much. The company would take him, gut his processor, wipe it, and Amanda would eventually move on with her healing and with her life. All for the best.

“Continuing on this hypothetical planning… How about you tell me something you’d like? Something that you would want out of the future.”

Samuels had to consider that; asking the future for anything more than the pure perfection of her clad in nothing but his open shirt sitting across his lap seemed wrong.

“I think...that ideally this would be day to day; I don’t know what I want yet. What _more_ that I want yet, and as you said about the frequency of our sexual activities...Whatever it turns out to be, it is, and we’ll handle things as they come. As for the immediate future, I suggest a shower, fresh clothes from your side of the wardrobe, and putting together a plan for this afternoon.”

“I have one already: settle on what we’re going to tell them when we we’re done here, then we’ll go, and they’ll listen to us or I kill every single man there with my bare hands, burn the entire corporation to the ground and we fuck in the ashes.” The whole time she spoke, she kept her face straight, expression serious

“I love you,” Christopher said, and just like every time he said it, he did so with meaning it more than he ever did before. Amanda felt her heart melt at his carefully crafted expression. How often, she wondered, did he look in a mirror and try to come up with looks to convey worry, joy, love, and this tenderness that she wished she could wrap herself up in forever? Or was this ‘natural’ for him now, like feeling, like free thought, was the instinct to display emotions part of that too? Throughout her life, for many reasons, she had avoided meditating on question of spirituality, of religion in general and yet... _If he doesn’t have a soul, then none of us do_. 

“I know. Come on,” she said, standing up, “Let’s...go back to bed for a little while before we shower." The thought that that might be the second and final time they did that together forced her into what she wasn't sure was optimism or stubborn denial: he would come home with her tonight, no matter what. "And when we get back here tonight we’re brainstorming an actual hobby for us."

He didn't use her hands to help himself up even though she was offering, but kept holding them anyway.

"By the way, dear," he said as she led him the short walk back to their room, "It's the fourteenth of February,"

"Happy Valentine's Day, let's corrupt your coding a little more," she shrugged off his shirt and walked backwards to the bed, pulling him along by the drawstring of his pants, "God, I wish you could blush."

"I don't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I notice anything glaringly bad about this (which I will, I always do the SECOND I hit "publish") I'll edit the chapter but for now I needed to get this fic finished to work on the other two at hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Outreotter for being my beta on this and any mistakes you find are mine own problem that I added or changed after they went over it.
> 
> Also, please comment, I haven't gotten a lot of feedback from more than one or two sources recently and its kind of disheartening.


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